


Dear Mamá

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Langst, My first Voltron fic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: Lance needs an outlet, and finds it through letter-writing addressed to his mum. Do they help or hurt?





	Dear Mamá

Everyone needs an outlet. Everyone. It's necessary. Pidge has Altean crosswords for hers. Allura talks with her mice. Keith works out in the training deck and Shiro… does something. Productive. Cathartic. Lance is sure of that. Now sure, Lance “has” the knitting thing, he can flirt merry till the day is long, he can talk to Blue. He can dance. But none of it feels like a _release._

It’s embarrassing it took him as long as it did to figure it out, but he’s finally got it. The one last thing he knows he can do.

He writes letters.

He _could_ just write letters to himself, sure but. _What’s the point of that, you know?_ And who’s he going to write them to, the Garrison? God forbid, _Iverson_? No. He writes to his family. He begins each letter with a signature flourish, and starts writing as far back as his memory will permit regarding Voltron. 

He begins,

 

_Dear Mamà,_

_Im sorry, I’m sorry it’s been so long since we’ve been able to talk. The Garrison wouldn’t let me use the Hello Kitty stationary Maribel sent me so, yeah. Tell her I’m sorry about that. (Besides that, I’ve hardly had the time between instructors and training and simulations. You know how it goes)._

_Speaking of the Garrison, you’re probably wondering how things are going here, and you know, I would tell you all about it, if I were actually. You know. Here. There. See the funny thing is that I’m not at the Galaxy Garrison anymore. At all. But you can be proud of me, I’m finally a fighter pilot like I told you and papá I was going to be. Except… not at the Garrison. Right. But I’m in space, and I think that’s what_ really _counts. Plus, you don’t have to listen to me whining about Iverson anymore! Silver linings, am I right?_

 _(Yes, Teresa you’re reading this right. I’m a fighter pilot, and I’m in space. And you can take that to the bank, stuff it in your pipe, or your boyfriend really I don’t care cause I’m up here and you’re stuck down there so_ ha).

 _Hunk and I are legs! We uh, we’re part of this massive giant robot thing called Voltron, and we each have our own epic lions. I’ve got Blue, and she and I are_ Tight. _Even if Keith keeps trying to take her from me. That bastard. Try though he might, he’ll just never have what Blue and I have with Red. It’s just how it is._

_Well, I hate to cut this letter short but we’ve got planets to save, evil alien overlords to beat, ladies I gotta make swoon. These are going to be some busy days for me. Maribel if you don’t nail your gymnastics meet I swear I’ll have Allura turn this ship around. Teresa, tell Chad or Brad or whatever that he can- Never mind. José, if you're reading, be a good kid and stay in school, eat your vegetables or whatever._

In the middle of his letter, he deliberates writing out the next line in parting. His inner homesickness wins.

_Love you, mamí. I’ll see you when I get home._

He signs off,

_Yours affectionately, Lance._

In the safe silence of his room, he kisses his folded letter with abandon. He rubs it in his hands, puttering around his room. _Now where to put this._ With no end tables or drawers or out-dated toy trunks to put his letter on, he goes for the next best thing. 

“Ahh, there you go, baby” he sighs as he slips the paper under his pillow. Smugly, warmly and overwhelmingly he smiles to himself. 

_Lance, it’s not a diary._

Lance takes careful precaution to remind himself it’s not a diary. As he pats his pillow back down, he nods and thinks he’ll let the letters accumulate. Hell, when they go back to planet Earth, he can give all his goofy letters to his mother, and they along with the rest of his siblings will all have a good laugh about his wild space adventures. _It’s gonna be great._

 

By the end of the second week of Lance’s letter-writing, the whole team (including Allura and Coran) know about his habit. Or at least, they have some vague notion of it. He wouldn’t dare breathe a soul of it to anyone else cause that’s like, his _thing_ you know? And some things just have to be kept to yourself. 

They all assume he’s started a diary. He has _not._  

A later entry reads,

 

_Dear mamá,_

_These alien ladies are going to kill me, I swear. If Zarkon doesn’t, they will before him. First being tied to a tree. Then being pulled under water with safe... and warm… sea food. I don't want to talk about it._

_We got a cow, he’s Kaltenecker! He’s my favorite, but Hunk keeps making eyes at him and honestly mamí I don’t even know if I can trust them to be in the same room together. (But, as a side note, it seems Americanization spans not only across earth, but the whole universe, too. Tell Teresa she can probably get her nasty Wendy’s here in just a few short pheebs.)_

_But speaking of pets, how’s Mr.G? Hope he hasn’t gone… belly up._

(Lance just can't help himself from snickering at his own half-baked jokes). 

_Seriously though, José. Make sure to take really good care of that stupid fish. You of all people are reaping in the success of your groveling. Mamá, I can only imagine just how much begging I did for a dog. Don't get me wrong, Kaltenecker is the best friend a guy could have but… Kaltenecker doesn't really know fetch. I do remember that a dog would be another mouth to feed, but that's what’s so great about Kaltenecker! He’s been taking pretty well to Coran’s food goo, so that's all covered._

_Still._

_I guess I still think it would be really cool I had like, one of those_ really slick dobermans. _Think mamá, he would be so smart. I would teach him those German commands, he’d protect the kids so well. He’d think he was a lapdog and climb up on everyone for a nap. Not like we’d take any in the first place, but a dog can dream. I’m under no delusion that I’d be able to name him myself so we’d probably get a name tag with something like… Mister Mocha. Or Shredder. Or Sir Saint Rigel the Second and a Half._

_We’d get him his own fluffy, ridiculous dog bed. Not that he would sleep in it or anything most nights when he’d be hogging up my side of the bed. (No different than Hunk’s and my old sleepovers.) I know they look a bit scary at first, but they’re really loyal! That’s… a redundant phrase._

_Anyhow, Kaltenecker and Blue and I are about to start a menagerie on this Castle._

_When I get back home after all this universe-mess, I know the first thing I want for my birthday. I bet that's a phrase you thought you’d be able to forget!_

_Yours affectionately, Lance._

 

Lance’s letters become so effective in their catharsis that he starts plotting out time just for writing. Shiro is the first to notice how during gladiator training, his shooting becomes sloppy and frantic in an effort to get out sooner. Counterproductive thought it is, all Lance can fixate on his _letters, letters, letters._ Other times, he'll blow off Hunk, Pidge or even the princess point-blank just to get back to his bed and write. 

They worry for his wellness.

Lance worries for his neck. (At this point, the letters more than threaten to spill under the edge of his pillow and poke him throughout the night).

Immediately after the Voltron paladins rescue Slav, Lance retreats as quickly as he can to decompress while his emotions are still fresh. Perhaps, maybe, they’re even still a little too fresh. 

He scribbles,

 

_Dear mamá,_

_Well, Slav is on the ship. The only person who I can think that’s more unhappy about it than me is Shiro. Ma, you should have seen the veins in his forehead, homeboy needs to remember his deep breathing techniques._

_Actually, no, you know. You should’ve seen_ me _. I was knocking out those Galra, bang bang bang! Man, we just slinked right into that prison. Those guards didn't even know what hit them. We sneaked in, pulled Slav right out. Well. After about half a varga of Slav's “predictions” about “alternate realities”. That was oodles of fun._

 _Speaking of fun, I apparently went on the path that led to the guard’s… pet? Called a yupper? And apparently no one had the good decency to tell me that all he_ said _was “yup”. We had a nice chat, though. He gets me._

_I guess this means you actually want to know what we chatted about._

He twirls his pencil around his fingers, considering withholding full disclosure. He exhales sharply, shakes out his wrist, and continues writing.

 _I decided to tell him about the team. I had to be a good face for Voltron, you know? First impressions and all that. I. I don’t know how well I actually did. But! I was doing really good on the first part, I told him all about how Shiro could easily kick everyone’s ass, Hunk, Pidge, the_ other one _. Then I… guess I choked when I got to me. I couldn’t share what my place was on the team. I couldn’t think for the life of me._

_I totally blanked._

_I couldn’t think._

His pencil stills, and in this moment, he still can’t think for himself what his purpose is. He uses his mother as a wall to bounce his desperate self-convincing off of.

_I can tell the rest of the team isn’t really convinced of my sniping skills. I know Shiro’s trying really hard to see it, he’s been amusing me, but. What if I… what if I really don’t have it? If I don’t have my sharpshooting, what else do I have? I have Blue and she’s great and all. I remember Allura told us that a paladin's and lion’s bond can’t be forced or anything, still though._

_I mean. Okay, get this, ma. Every time I go to Allura what the Blue lion’s quintessence represents, she refuses to answer me! Is she scared of embarrassing me? Is the Blue paladin the pity-paladin?_

_No. No, I can’t say that about the first paladin. I bet he was so much stronger, and actually pushed his team forward instead of pulling them back. He probably had a_ thing.

As Lance’s emotions churned in his heart and head, he gripped his pencil tight. His wrist throbbed, and his bitterness strained his mouth but he couldn’t stop. His histrionics overflowed.

 _What is my_ thing, _Mamí? I mean, I’ve_ got _to have one if I could have taken down Blue’s barrier when Keith couldn’t. Right? That’s got to count for something._

Lance’s bargaining sounded weak to his own ears. 

_There’s just nothing, I think. Am I being selfish?_

His aching hand caught up with his aching esteem. His writing slowed, but his threatening tears halted in no such way.

 _There’s no thing for me here, on this team. There’s no reason for me to stay. It hurts sometimes. Knowing I’m the weakest link in the only goddam force against an entire_ empire. _I won’t slow down, I can’t catch up. I still think about when I got tied up by Nyma. I should have seen right through her. Hell, even Queen Luxia’s people, too. I just. I can’t._

 _I_ keep doing _stupid stuff just like this, and I wonder myself why Shiro still even has patience with me. Why Hunk even still has patience with me._

_It doesn’t feel right of me to stay. But I can’t go. I won’t go, I remember what you taught me. I’m going to be better than my word, and my word is a steel trap._

Lance folds his letter with shaking hands and watery eyes. “Wait!” He hastily unfolds it, and finishes,

_Yours affectionately, Lance._

 

After some time, Lance’s letters no longer fit under his pillow. As an alternative, he stuffs them _inside,_ hoping the sharp edges won’t poke him to much in the cheek. Or his eye. He starts to calm down with the frequency of his letter-writing, and his teammates can immediately tell. His duration begins to decline as well. To that, the other paladins are slower on the upswing.

Lance can’t see it for himself, but his letters become more genuine. Less posturing. More pleading.

_I miss you._

When Pidge notices Lance crawling out of his room more weary than when we went in, she stops. 

“Hey, Lance?”

“Heeey, little pigeon. How’s it going, you need something?”

Pidge can't help but take notice of his stained eyes. His crumpled posture. His defensive inflection.

 _Lance reminds himself that his letters are_ not _a diary._

“Uuh, no. No not at all, just. Checking up on you. I guess?”

 _They’re_ **_not_ ** _._

“Aww, she does care.” He claps her rough on the shoulder. “You’re too good to me.” Before Pidge can even scrounge up a reply, Lance saunters away with tense, hard-burdened shoulders.

 

_It’s just not enough._

Sometimes he’ll forget to greet or finish his letter before folding it. Sometimes both.

_Dear mamá,_

_I know I’ve missed Teresa's birthday by now. Happy birthday, sis. Hope your boy toy is giving you hell._

_Actually._

Lance hold his pencil so tight it threatens to break.

_No. No I don’t. If he isn’t treating you right, (if you’re even still together,) I’ll give him hell myself._

_Teresa, I don’t even want to think about who else’s birthday I’ve already missed. Who I will miss._

_Maribel must be climbing the ranks in gymnastics, though. You must be getting so strong._

So strong. Lance smiles morosely. 

Without his presence of mind, he starts mouthing along to the words he pencils down.

_I’m so proud of you, Mari. So proud. You’ve always impressed me with your strength, your talent. You and Teresa both need to take care of José. It seems the boys in this family will always need your help._

_I’m so proud of you and Teresa, both. Hell, I’m even proud of you, José. I just wish, that with all the speed and distance and ease these lions can take me somewhere, I could come back home to you. I’m so proud of you all, I just wish I knew what I was proud_ of. 

Lance forgets to keep his voice down. He starts speaking along to his writing.

_There’s not enough time to say how sorry I am about not hugging you enough, not encouraging enough. Not letting you know enough how much I love you. God, I miss you all. So. Much._

_Mamá, I love you. If I were only 10 years younger, I could just crawl back up in your arms while you hold me. You could sing me lullabies and tell me stories as I cradle little Maribel in my arms myself. We would harmonize together, and wake the whole house with our singing. We could be another regular Von Trapp family._

“Us, and that Doberman.” Lance finally catches himself when his breath hitches. (Outside, Hunk stops dead in his tracks outside of his friend’s room). He takes a shuddering breath in. Furiously blinks his tearing eyes clear, and obstinately continues to write.

_Together, all of us could curl up on the rug in the living room. We’d watch lita's novelas, Mister Mocha would wag his tail furiously, there would be-_

Lance had to still his hand on account of his shaking. Feverish and determined, he sets his pencil down once more.

_We’d all be surrounded by warmth, mamá. The Altean castle is so cold. Nothing like our home. Nothing like our rain. I can’t believe I would miss the humidity. I can't believe I would miss a pet I don’t have. I can’t believe I would miss my sisters. I can't believe I would miss you as much as I do._

Outside Lance’s room, Hunk's and Pidge's hearts break from his muffled sobbing. Openly he weeps as they look to each other in consternation. _What?_ Hunk mouths frantically. Pidge irately shrugs her shoulders. She shushes him, points to the door, and continues with their blatant eavesdropping.

Lance, in all his exhaustion, gives up on ending his entry- _letter -_ on a positive note.

_I can only hope you miss me half as much as I miss you. Maybe if I didn’t go to the garrison, Keith wouldn’t have dragged all our asses out to the middle of nowhere to somehow defend the universe. Maybe I could still be the star-struck boy in school, needling Mari and Teresa. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to leave._

At Lance’s last shuddering inhale, Hunk storms through his door. Lance stares at his friend with red eyes, nose and cheeks. Hunk barrels forward. With Pidge close behind, they both wrap a shaking, sniveling Lance in a fierce hug. His last remnant of peace is thoroughly shattered.

“ _I- I, left without saying_ ** _goodbye_** _!”_

_Maybe, I wouldn’t have had to say goodbye at all._

Hunk looks across the room and spots Lance’s overflowing pillow. As Lance calms, he notices his friend’s gaze and is quick to the defense.

“They’re… It’s not a diary.” He pats Hunk and Pidge on the back, folds his most recent letter, hold it up for them to see, and slips it in his pillowcase.

 _It’s_ ** _not_**.

He doesn’t know how long he wants to let himself believe his own lie.

 

_Yours affectionately,_

_Lance._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed!! This was my first voltron fic, ummm. I don't plan to make this a frequent-occurring thing? But please be gentle!
> 
> I uh. I think that's about it. Besos y abrazos to the ones who can guess which line was inspired by real life :)
> 
> ((chat with me @chickadeecrowns on tumblr c: ))


End file.
